


Minutes

by notenoughcoffee



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3718339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughcoffee/pseuds/notenoughcoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brief moments in the lives of Angie and Peggy. A series of one-shots. Rating might change along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disaster

Angie drummed her fingers against the worn leather of an arm chair. Almost silent, the pads of her fingertips beat out rhythmic patterns, slow and steady at first, increasing their pace and changing the order of which she let her digits fall, crescendoing until she dropped the palm of her hand to the material with a sharp smack. 

Headlights from passing cars illuminated the disappointment knitted into her brow every time they did not stop at the door for the Englishwoman to alight. The furrow on her forehead became more pronounced with each vehicle that continued down the road. 

She had poured herself a liberal amount of spirit before sitting down to take up her vigil at the window, but she had yet to take a sip. The copper liquid filled the crystal tumbler to the brim, and it mocked her as the traveling lights splayed its contents out across the glass tabletop as though the vessel was cracked before returning again over and over. 

It had been a hell of a shift at work. A group of four young men, who had seemed perfectly well-mannered, had pulled a runner before paying their bill, leaving her to pay for their dinner out of her sorry paycheck. She didn’t even bear the thought of how many times men had felt themselves entitled to pinch and grab at her as she took their orders with a gritted smile laced with venom. It left her a meager 26 cents in the black between tips and wages for her entire shift, and it felt like a slap in the face. 

All she wanted tonight was for Peggy to wrap her arms around her and whisper that it was only a matter of time before the bright lights of Broadway were shining on her. The Automat was only a temporary inconvenience to pay for some dance classes, one of which she had following her shift. That ballet lesson hadn’t gone well for her either, after spending ten hours fetching food and collecting plates. She just didn’t have the energy to hold the correct posture and her teacher kept prodding at her as if it was going to help. It only discouraged her more. She knew she would never be able to match some of the other women at her auditions who had clearly been dancing since they could walk.

Still, the uncoordinated dancing and the repulsive behavior of men weren’t anything that she hadn’t been troubled by before, and certainly wouldn’t be anything that she wouldn’t be faced with again. She sighed with frustration and brought her thoughts back to the room she was in, still feeling hollow in her solitude, but not as bereft since she pulled on one of Peggy’s shirts that she had found discarded by the door. The smell of Peggy’s perfume clung to the material and offered her a small comfort.

As the cycle of spillage continued to play out on the table in front of her, her feet took up the tapping her fingers had quit. That tapping annoyed her, too., and she wondered when exactly it had been that she had spiraled into this madness where she became a nuisance to herself. 

Not trusting her restlessness wouldn’t lead to making a mess of things, she leaned forward and brought her lips to the tumbler where it sat on the table, slurping the whiskey in a manner that would have caused her mother to cuff her around the head and turn her face to the sky questioning where she had gone wrong.

“Well, you’re a sight,” came a quiet voice from the hallway.

Angie choked on her drink, eyes filling with tears as the alcohol made its way through her nose and down her chin. She buried her head into her elbows and an ear-splitting screech erupted from her throat, reverberating around the enormous room, emphasized by sputtered coughs. Peggy jumped back into the shadows of the hall, terrified at the picture before her, and embarrassed on the other woman’s behalf. 

Behind tightly scrunched eyes, Angie swore she saw her life flash before her. When her eyes burned a little less, and her breath came easier, Angie leapt from the armchair, rounding violently and wildly swatting at the air in Peggy’s direction.

“What is wrong with you?” Her voice was weaker than she had intended. She hoped that her expression conveyed the vitriol which her words had been incapable of. “Can’t use a door like everyone else? Gotta slink in here like you were up to no good?” Stronger now, but no less gravelly, she continued, “how did you even get in without me seeing you?” A beam of light passed through the window and highlighted the trail of whiskey marking its way down Angie’s chin mingling with tears before it dropped to soak into the collar of the button-up shirt.

Peggy watched the tirade play out before bravely stepping toward, dodging gesticulations, until she had Angie in a tight grasp. She pulled her in for a hug, locking Angie’s arms in at her sides, to suppress the likelihood of injury within her own home. 

“Are you - are you laughing at me?” the blonde asked incredulously.

Peggy hadn’t realized she was until that moment, and it only served to make her laugh harder. She could feel the heat rising against the cheek pressed to her own, and was deeply grateful at her foresight to constrict Angie’s arms.

Where Peggy had gone wrong was underestimating the ruthlessness of the woman she thought to be incapacitated. She swiftly became aware of her gross misjudgment when a sharp kick was landed against her shin. The shock of the blow against her leg caused her to create distance between them, and when Peggy realized that the worst that Angie could do was strike her with a slippered foot, she laughed with even more gusto, her grip slackening.

“I’ve half a mind to clobber you right now and you’re laughing at me,” she yelled, wriggling to break free.

Peggy’s giggles subsided for a moment as she took in the disaster standing in front of her, and she worried for a moment that she should make a getaway out of the door to the backyard before Angie decided to bring those threats to fruition. Despite knowing better, she let Angie go.

The idea of running with the flushed blonde trailing behind her entertained her momentarily, until she recognized the homicidal glare flickering behind blue eyes, and it briefly became a legitimate strategy to avoid physical harm, before her thoughts then played a scene out in her head of tiny, soft fists raining down on her in a half-hearted fury. Laughter erupted from Peggy once again, and she had to double over and lean on the arm of the chair at the ache forming in her side.

When she was finally able to compose herself long enough to acknowledge the daggers boring into her body through a stare, and recognized that Angie was awaiting answers to her questions, she swiped at the tears and said, “I haven’t left the house today. I’ve been waiting for you upstairs all night.” Peggy’s voice was thin through the exertion of keeping calm. 

She spared a glance in Angie’s direction, trying not letting her eyes linger too long for fear it would send her into another fit of giggles, but her gaze fell directly to the fresh watermarks on the white shirt, so new that they were still seeping into the fabric, extending their reach and making visible the flesh beneath. Angie’s chin was at her chest, and her hair, loosened from the hold of a band, fell in messy wisps to conceal her face. 

“Ang?” Peggy’s former glee sobered quickly, and she reached a tentative hand to tip Angie’s head up enough to meet her eyes. Fat tears left wide streaks from red-rimmed eyes down her cheeks. Angie sniffled quietly in response to Peggy’s palm holding up her chin, and her thumbs brushing away the moisture. A sob caught in her throat and she was immediately engulfed in the embrace she had been so desperately waiting for since she had arrived home. Peggy dropped kisses everywhere her lips could reach as she squeezed the blonde closer to herself. 

“I was waiting for you. You weren’t here, and you-you hadn’t come home, and I was so worried, and you just laugh at me!” Angie sobbed again, and Peggy tried to pull her even closer.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Peggy felt the tiny frame against her shudder and gasp. She ran her fingers through the tresses of Angie’s hair, shushed her, and swayed back and forth, hoping to sooth the woman like she were a small child. 

They stood that way for what Peggy took to be an eternity, as Angie continued to shake, and make unbearably heartbreaking squeaks and trembling breaths. The body in her arms became heavier as it grew more and more limp against her, until Peggy was certain they were going to lose balance and hit the ground. 

“Why don’t we sit down for a moment, yeah?” She suggested gently. When she received no response, she guided Angie back toward the arm chair she had been sitting in when Peggy had entered the room, pulling the woman into her lap.

From her new vantage point, Peggy could see a wicked gleam flash across Angie’s eyes, and her teeth bit into her bottom lip. She watched as the harrowing look of despair crumbled and sniffling cries turned into snickering and then into an evil cackle.

“Gotcha.” 

Peggy could do nothing but stare at her in utter disbelief. 

“Aw, you should see your face right now, Pegs. I really had you going.” Angie howled in laughter.

“You… But… Jesus Christ, Angie. How are you struggling to make it to the stage?”

Angie reached out to the table, grabbing the tumbler of whiskey spilling half of the contents across Peggy’s legs and the borrowed shirt she was wearing as she brought it to her mouth, taking a deep swig before bringing it to Peggy’s lips so she could do the same.

“You’re just too easy, English.” She winked at her before leaning for a kiss that was long overdue.


	2. Sunshine

Peggy was relieved to be released from the bullpen this morning. She knew that she should feel angered that once again she had been passed over to be a part of the take-down team, especially since she was the one responsible for cracking the encrypted messages that lead to the location of a high-profile target. 

Truthfully, she was just grateful to be able to breathe in some air that wasn’t tainted with the smell of overworked, under-showered men. She had spent more time than she cared to think about in the company of putrid smelling men during the war, but at least at that time she had been in the same position as they were with no way of alleviating the situation. It seemed to her that her fellow agents reveled in the opportunity to avoid the showers readily available in the locker room, and not a single one seemed to have been foresighted enough to ensure they had spare clothing at the office.

Not being assigned to ride out with them was a stroke of luck, doubly so when she felt the direct sunshine for the first time in over a week. It worked its way through the layers of her clothing and soaked into her pale skin. Immediately, she was filled with the joy only a bright, clear day and an empty schedule can bring. It was a gentle reminder that life was meant for more than perpetual assignments and ceaseless duty. 

She was ecstatic at the idea of spending this suddenly free time with her girlfriend, whom she knew she would be groveling for forgiveness for having been away for so long with the flimsiest of excuses. The word “confidential” can only go so far with someone like Angie. She demanded more, and Peggy knew she deserved it. The only thing that filled her with guilt more than withholding information from Angie, was being untruthful, and so she poured out excuses about paperwork, and numbers, and a tough nut to crack, and reassured her with “I’ll see you as soon as I can, darling”s at every opportunity to make a discreet call home.

Being just a few dozen blocks away and not being able to see Angie had been a modicum of motivation to bring closure to the case sooner. The anticipation of seeing her smile break through after she had finished pretending to be cross made Peggy walk with a bounce in her step and risk life and limb dodging taxis rather recklessly to get herself home as fast as she was able. 

She almost regretted having made the walk so quickly upon reaching the front door to their home; the blue skies beckoned for company, and entering the house seemed sinful. She hoped that she would be able to convince Angie to lay out a blanket in the back garden where they could lounge about and enjoy the rest of the divine afternoon, just the two of them. It shouldn’t be too much of a task to persuade her. Peggy could even make some sandwiches and they could have a picnic dinner. Her culinary capabilities would stretch as far as that, but not much further. It could serve as part of her penance for her absence, she had decided. 

She hadn’t allowed herself enough time to make a phone call home after the chief had dismissed her, so when she wasn’t thrown to the ground by a raging, petite blonde the moment she stepped through the door, Peggy assumed Angie was at the Automat. 

She kicked her heels off in the middle of the hall, and began shedding her clothing, dropping the pieces one-by-one in a trail as she made her way into the house. She knew that Angie’s usual annoyance at such behavior would quickly be absolved at the knowledge that she’d finally come home. She delighted in the ability to get away with such untidiness without facing consequences. She walked up the stairs in nothing but her underwear, scratching at her ribs, relishing in the feel of the clean, crisp air of her home against her skin, and the stretch in her calves each time her foot fell flatly and inaudibly against the chilled wooden floor. When she reached the landing at the top, she tousled her hair free from all of the pins she’d been forced to stick in to tame the defiant curls and strands that seemed to taunt her intentionally while she had been caged at work, stripping her of one more thing she could control under normal conditions. She was so glad to be home.

She had only just dropped the last pin onto the hall table when she heard a strange scuffling noise come from the master bedroom. Her stomach churned with panic, and she silently padded to the door, pressing her ear against it to try to discern the commotion inside. It didn’t help any. It seemed to have gone quiet again. With a steadying breath, Peggy grasped the handle of the door and waited a moment more before pressing it down and throwing her hip into the door to swing it open violently, storming in and dropping her stance in preparation for a fight before the door could ricochet off the wall and swing back to its frame. 

Before the sole occupant could process the intrusion, Peggy witnessed her execute a clumsy roundhouse kick to an invisible opponent, before falling over onto her side in fright from the interruption. Peggy looked on in horror as she took in the sight of Angie, wearing one of Peggy’s work outfits and red lipstick.

“Pegs!” She squeaked from the floor, nonplussed.

Peggy just stared at her, blinking, trying to comprehend and failing. She watched the color of Angie’s flushed cheeks spread to cover the rest of her face, traveling down her neck and the triangle of skin on her chest where the buttons of her white shirt had not been done up. 

“I- um- I was workin’ on a scene,” she mumbled and turned an impossible shade darker. Her blue eyes grew large when she finally processed the sight of Peggy’s state of undress. 

Peggy crossed her arms in front of her and tried to look formidable so as not to betray the panic that had yet to relinquish its grip on her stomach, and to muffle the sound of her heart hammering in her chest. “And what scene was that, exactly?” She was glad to have been able to find her voice, and thankful that her anxiety was rapidly melting into utter bemusement. 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re home though!” Angie leapt to her feet and launched herself at Peggy, too trusting in the brunette’s finely trained reflexes to consider that she might send them both hurtling to the unforgiving floor. Though poorly anticipated, Peggy was able to drop her arms just in time to catch the other woman and save them both from tumbling. Angie wrapped her legs tightly around the taller woman’s waist, and delighted in the expanse of bare skin she could run her hands over. 

Angie pressed kisses into Peggy’s neck, moving upward just below her ear, down her jawline, before finally capturing Peggy’s lips with her own and sighing into it, all the while wandering hands relished in the familiar feel of taught muscles, soft scars, and beauty marks.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Peggy returned and leaned in to kiss Angie again, but the blonde pulled back, and her full-bodied grip on Peggy slackened until her feet were back on the floor.

“This ain’t fair,” she said breathily.

“What’s not fair, darling?”

“You come in here after being gone so long and scare a girl half to death. I should be mad as hell with you. Make you sleep on the couch or something. Instead you walk in here looking like… well, like you,” Angie paused, visibly trying to work up some level of anger and coming up short when her eyes failed to remain locked onto Peggy’s. “And with next to nothing on,” she tried to say it indignantly, but her elation shone through.

“I didn’t think you were home.” 

“Is that so?” Angie smirked and raised an eyebrow, not allowing Peggy to pull her in again even though she wanted little else other than to feel her warm body against her own. “Do you make a habit of attacking would-be robbers naked then?”

“Occasionally. Really throws them off, you know?” Peggy gave her a soft laugh before biting her lip in the way she knew Angie adored. “It appears as though it has worked with you.”

Angie hummed an approval, watching as Peggy bit her lip for a second time, fighting the urge to pull that lip into her own mouth and sooth it with her tongue. The effort was so great the sound of her own voice nearly startled her. “Oh yeah? How often is occasionally? Do they specify the level of clothing when you get your assignments?” She sidled back up against Peggy, grabbing at her waist and drawing her back in to close the distance she had put between them.

“What do you think I do at work?” Peggy snorted.

“Prance around in your underwear evidently. Beat the snot out of bad guys,” she tapered off, closing her eyes and moving in to kiss Peggy again. She found nothing but air. When she opened her eyes, the look she found across Peggy’s face was sheer glee.

“Was that what you were doing when I walked in?” Peggy’s composure dissolved to nonexistence when Angie’s cheeks flamed in embarrassment. “You were pretending to be me!” Her exuberant cackle filled the room while Angie sputtered nonsensical noises trying to form a response.

“Shut up,” she finally managed. She grabbed Peggy’s arm, which had been holding the stitch in her side, and swung her further into the room, pushing her back onto their bed, climbing atop her.

“Oh, yes ma’am,” Peggy replied, attempting to display some self-control and contain her laughter.

“That’s Agent Carter to you.” 

“Oh, yes ma’am. Agent Carter, ma’am.” Self-control was short-lived, and Peggy began giggling again until Angie pressed a hard kiss to her lips. 

As Angie’s hands made their way down her body, Peggy wondered why she had given any thought to spending the rest of the day any differently than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I wasn't as happy with this one as I was with the first. Just letting this one go so I can move on to the next. :)


	3. We Belong at the Bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope I haven't lulled you into a false sense of fluffy security with over-emotional Angie and awkward-as-hell Peggy. We've gone back in time a bit for this one.

Peggy pressed her forehead into the polished wood of the table she was handcuffed to. A gleam from the single lightbulb positioned in the center of the ceiling reflected off the surface into her eyes, so she pushed her nose further into the veneer trying to escape its accusatory glare. 

Thompson had dropped her down into the chair roughly, and the room was still rising and falling like a ship in tempestuous waters. She thought she might be sick. She felt numb, and oddly warm, despite knowing the chill that always crept into this particular room. The surfaces of the table and chair were probably frigid. She wished she could feel it, but she couldn’t quite figure out where it was that the lines of her own body ended and the rest of the world existed. 

The physical effects of that damn lipstick Dottie had been wearing when she had kissed her were astounding, especially since her mental facilities had recovered far faster and were seemingly overcompensating for her deficits now. 

The worst thing about it, Peggy thought, was that none of it - not the undulating walls, floor, and furniture, not the indistinguishable boundaries of her being, not the impending interrogation by her peers, not even the likely charge of treason that would see her hang - could distract her from the last glimpse of Angie outside the Griffith as she was shuffled into the back of that police car, drowsy and confused. 

Once the fog had lifted from her mind, all she could see was that look of consternation so misplaced on Angie’s sweet face when she had seen Peggy’s inexplicable capture. She had looked so concerned for her, and disappointed too. She must have thought that Peggy had had a change of heart, deciding not to take her up on the offer of help from her brother. A perfectly planned escape, thrown into the wind. Better she think that than know the truth, she supposed. 

Her stomach twinged. Though she acknowledged that pain as indication that she was slowly returning to her corporeal confines, she was certain that being of one body and mind again would only serve to intensify her misery. She bemoaned the delay in her questioning. She was familiar with her colleagues’ methods of extracting information, and now that her true capabilities had been revealed, she wasn’t sure they would have any qualms about treating her any differently than they would a man in her position. There would be no mercy.

She wished she had held Angie in that hug a little longer. Maybe if she’d been a little less cowardly, she would have turned her face into the curve of Angie’s neck and pressed a kiss just where the steady thrum of her heartbeat could be felt. Their moments of affection had been painfully few in number since she’d first encountered the waitress flitting about the diner, but Peggy knew that any number would have been too few. She would never have had enough of her. 

She would never know if Angie felt the same way about her. She knew Angie was fond of her, great friends even, but now they were limited to forever be nothing more. 

Another love lost before it had even been found.

The door knob turned, and she raised her head, took a deep breath, and steeled her gaze. She had nothing left to lose.


	4. Self-Reliance

There were a lot of words Angie would use to describe Peggy, but none so applicable as “aggressively self-reliant”. It wasn’t just her independence when it came to how she worked; Angie knew that she put herself in harm’s way more than was required by refusing the help of her colleagues. It was not that she was always so adamant in helping everyone who ever called upon her, and she never allowed them to repay those favors. What made Angie circle back to those words every time, was Peggy’s insistence on doing it all secretly - not even permitting herself to acknowledge that she may need someone to soothe away the stresses and traumas that came with what it was she did as a job. It was as if allowing herself to find comfort would be an act of irreparable self-harm. That quiet, stoic way Peggy went about every aspect of her life was absolutely infuriating. 

Angie shouldn’t have been surprised to wake up and find that Peggy had vanished from their bed without so much as a note to say where she was going or when she would be back. She never did let her know when she would be leaving. This time hurt though. She could see that there had been something playing in Peggy’s mind the night before, and had tried to coax it out of her. They had gone to bed at odds, silently fuming with the other and their stubbornness.

It had now been three days.

Three excruciatingly long, worrisome days, and it felt like Peggy had done it out of spite, even though Angie knew the other woman would never do such a thing. Rationality was becoming more difficult to find with the passing of each hour. She alternated between fury and fretting, and each night she went without sleep only served to intensify those two dispositions. 

Unfortunately for Peggy, she had returned home whilst Angie was enraged. 

Angie had watched her alight from a taxi through a small gap in the scarlet curtains. When she had crossed the threshold into their house, she wanted to storm up to her, stomping with every footstep so Peggy would be sure of what was to come, and slap her beautiful face hard enough to leave her fingerprints behind. She was done waiting around for Peggy to come home, or to receive news that she never would be. She was going to spend every scrap of indignation and dread accumulated since the moment they had met, preferably in that one strike tonight. 

When she was close enough to take a swing at her, Angie saw the blossom of a bruise across Peggy’s cheek already there. Someone had beat her to it. She steadied herself, and attempted to convey all of her animosity through her glare. She stared as Peggy’s shoulders dropped, and the poise with which she always held herself faded away until the naturally formidable woman was replaced with a fragile wisp of a figure. Angie was astonished enough to lose some of her hostility, and allowed Peggy to drop the heels she had been carrying in her hand and shuffle further into the house in her stockings. 

Peggy didn’t make it very far. She slowly walked toward the living room Angie had been occupying before she’d arrived home without lifting her eyes to meet Angie’s. She made it to the couch, unbuttoning her blouse and letting it fall from her shoulders straight to the floor. She made a movement to reach around to tug down the zipper of her skirt before changing her mind mid-movement. 

Angie continued to watch her from the hallway, her chest still smoldering with the anger she’d kept pent up far too long. Peggy grabbed the material of her skirt just above the middle of her thigh, and pulled it upward, bunching it at her hips so that she could grab the clasps holding up her stockings and rolled them down a bit. Angie rolled her eyes when that seemed to be too much for Peggy as well.

“Do you need a hand?” Angie asked fed up with watching her struggle.

“No. Thank you,” she uttered, barely audible.

Angie threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “You know, you didn’t seem to mind all that much when I took your clothes off the night you skipped out,” she spat with more venom than necessary. Peggy reddened with shame. 

“Please, just, not tonight,” her breath caught in her throat, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she slowly reclined on the couch in an unbecoming half-state of undress with her undershirt tucked into the skirt still gathered at her hips and her stockings sitting above her knees. She rested her head back and closed her eyes.

Angie’s anger deflated, and she moved to stand in front of her. There was no point in carrying out this tirade if Peggy wasn’t going to rise to meet her, and the desire she had had to slap her filled her with guilt. Here she was wishing she could let loose her emotions with physicality whilst Peggy was taking a hit from someone else. A good hit, too, if the swelling on her brow bone was any indication.

It soon became apparent that, if left to it, Peggy would remain as she was on the couch for the rest of the night. Rolling her eyes, Angie reached out and tucked a rebellious tendril of hair, escaped from its confines of a tight braid, behind Peggy’s ear. To see the almighty Peggy Carter so vulnerable was disheartening, and the rest of her ire abated.

“You’re a mess, English,” she whispered, “let me help you.” She saw Peggy’s eyes flutter open just enough to see through heavy lashes, relinquishing a few of her tears. Her left eye struggled against the swelling that seemed to become more prominent each time Angie looked at it. She made no objection this time, so Angie knelt on the floor in front of her.

Defeated, Peggy allowed her to roll the stockings the rest of the way down her legs, and she draped them over the armrest. Sliding her hands in between the couch cushion and Peggy’s waist, she reached for the zipper, and with no cooperation on Peggy’s behalf, succeeded in drawing the skirt down and off without jostling her much. Angie bit her lip in worry when she saw the contusions coloring Peggy’s thighs and hips. It was no wonder she had no fight in her tonight.

She placed a feather light kiss to Peggy’s forehead, ran her hands tenderly over her cheeks, and gave her a shoddy smile. 

Angie raised herself onto the couch to face her. Peggy leaned in her direction, and Angie guided her down to lay on top of her. 

Later, as she felt the soft, steady breathing against her neck, with one hand buried in stray curls, and the other brushed a finger in swirling patterns across Peggy’s shoulder, Angie thought that maybe Peggy wasn’t as self-reliant as she had been under the impression of.


	5. Stop Breathing

“Quit moving, will you?” It was the fourth time she had said it, and as retaliation for her repeated words, the other woman only seemed to squirm more. She huffed in annoyance and pulled tighter. With sheer determination, she would see this through. There would be no mercy given tonight.

“I can’t breathe,” was the weak response as she continued to tug. She had expected to be given more of a fight, especially considering who it was, and the docile way she had allowed this to transpire was almost a bit of a kill-joy for it all.

“Good. Stop tryin’ to,” she replied. She gave another pull with both hands and felt the other woman lose her balance and begin to fall back toward her.

“This won’t work.”

“You’re still talkin’, English. If you’re still talkin’, you’re still breathin’, and I thought I told you to quit that,” her tone would have been more jovial if she wasn’t exerting quite so much effort. If only Peggy would just stay still! She pressed her knee into the small of the other woman’s back to keep her from swaying with every yank, before gathering the material into one hand.

“Angie-“ The metallic clatter of connecting teeth on a zipper cut her short and stole the rest of the air from her lungs. 

“There! See, didn’t I tell you?” She adjusted her hair so that it fell in gentle curls down her back, and hid where the material was biting into Peggy’s flesh before spinning her around to take a look at her. 

She beamed with pride at her accomplishment, and let her eyes wander down the full length of Peggy’s body, choosing to ignore where the strapless dress was painfully cutting into the skin at her arm pits, and grinning salaciously when she saw how much Peggy was spilling out of the sweetheart neckline. With no qualms, she reached up and wedged her fingers between the material and Peggy’s breasts, simultaneously pushing them deeper into the dress, and pulling the garment higher to better confine them, ignoring the whimper of half-hearted protest. 

When she managed to adjust things just enough so that it didn’t teeter quite so dangerously on the side of lewd, she let her hands rest on Peggy’s bare shoulders. Her heart continued to race, though less from the exertion of zipping the dress, and more from the heavy-lidded, flushed expression across Peggy’s face. She let herself indulge in running her fingers across Peggy’s collarbones, and then up to cradle the nape of her neck, and Angie thought for a moment that she could get used to seeing Peggy dressed up like this. 

The crimson fabric flared ever so slightly past her hips, defined more than usual by the tightly constricted waistline before widening further just below her knees. From her navel down, the material was cinched in increments along the length so that it gathered in small, elegant folds along the sides and draping around the back of the skirt, falling into a small train behind her. 

Peggy was sure she was going to faint, her breaths only coming shallow and labored with the pressure on her ribcage, and as Angie applied a layer of vermillion on her lips, her vision went so hazy that she briefly wondered if Angie had mistakenly picked up the wrong tube of lipstick.

Angie took a reluctant step back to admire her work, her breath catching at the sight of Peggy looking so remarkably regal. If this had not been the result of a quarrel, she would have showered the other woman with compliments until the end of days, but as this was not such an occasion, she swallowed the praise and did her best to control her expression so as not to look at Peggy like she alone was responsible for the sun rising.

“Now, let’s see how well you can ‘prance about’,” Angie teased. “You got somethin’ you want to apologize for?” Peggy just looked at her guiltily, and never regretted her words more in her life. 

“Quite,” was her breathy response, “but you told me to stop talking.” Angie rolled her eyes and shoved Peggy’s shoulder gently. 

“That’s as close as I’m gonna get to one, ain’t it?”

Peggy could only nod her answer as she began to feel herself succumbing to dizziness. Angie let her list precariously before reaching out and helping her sit back on their bed.

“Good luck gettin’ that dress off without my help then, English.” She patted her cheek affectionately before making her way toward the door to leave, stopping only when she heard repeated, feeble gasps of ‘sorry’ and turning around only when she heard the desperate pleads to ‘unzip the damn dress’.

After she had been freed, Peggy vowed to never to make a deprecatory comment comparing the challenges of their professions ever again.

“No matter how much bourbon was involved, or how right I may actually be, if only it is to never suffer through the pains of being forced into your formal wear again,” she added proudly, thinking she was keeping just out of earshot, but one look at Angie’s face, washed with fury and she knew she had been caught. She instantly made her face look as remorseful as she could, and tried to hide exactly how much she was terrified of what else she might be subjected to.

There were some things that probably should go unsaid. It was a lesson Peggy didn’t think she would ever learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to let you guys know that the next part might be a bit delayed as I will be away next week. Assuming I don't get eaten by a bear whilst traipsing around in the woods, all should be back to normal after that. 
> 
> Thanks for all of your lovely comments and input so far. I really do appreciate it. :) Have a great week and a half or so!


	6. Lethal Sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay on this chapter. My holiday in the woods left me with crazy ideas, like spending more time outside away from a computer. Don't worry, though. It won't last long.

Angie stared at the layer of pastry draped on the pie tin with abhorrence, its golden creases glaring back at her scornfully. Butter and flour, folded and rolled, folded and rolled, folded and rolled. She ached from shoulder to fingertip. She would have never imagined that there would be a time in her life where baked goods would enrage her, but she’d reached that point earlier in the week with the apple turnovers and their scorching hot filling from the deepest pits of hell. Her animosity toward sweet things had not abated since, but she couldn’t very well give up now. 

She grumbled a bit, snatching up the bowl of blueberries, their purple skins muted and glistening with the shining granules of brown sugar, and smelling as though she had squeezed in a bit too much lemon juice. It wouldn’t make much of a difference. It was only going to sit on the shelf of the refrigerator, untouched, amongst all of the other pastries and pies that had come into being over the past week and a half.

She had yet to make something with cherries. If the blueberry pie didn’t do it, she would try cherries tomorrow. She really hoped that the blueberry pie would work. She wasn’t sure her sanity would last through the task of pitting cherries.

She continued to scowl as she poured the filling into the pie tin, letting it fall from a greater height than necessary, a few of the berries bouncing off of the base and making a break for it, rolling down the countertop. Angie whined when she realized that it now meant an even bigger mess that would need to be cleaned up once the pie made it to the oven.

Over the course of the past two weeks or so, Angie watched as Peggy became sullen and short-tempered. She had tried to speak to her about it, and was brusquely told to “leave off it,” before she made a quick exit from the room to sulk on her own. Angie had panicked at first, wondering what she had done, or what Peggy had done to cause such a shift in their dynamic. It wasn’t until she had picked up a newspaper with a headline about the new monument being constructed in Central Park to commemorate Captain America on the anniversary of his death, that Angie realized what had been eating away at Peggy. 

It was a heartache that Angie knew she would never be able to ease, and knowing how much pain Peggy was in was a heartache of her own. 

Aware that bringing up the topic with Peggy would open up her wounds again, which would do nothing more than to send the other woman running, Angie turned to baking. It was as much to provide small moments of comfort for Peggy, as it was a cathartic way to keep herself distracted. They both had a penchant for eating their emotions, and a preference for sweets. She had been hard at work for days mixing up offerings of sugar in obscene quantities.

It had started with an almond cookie recipe that Angie’s mother loved to use on rainy days to cheer up everyone pent up in the house. It quickly escalated to cannolis, panforte, various turnovers, tarts, every cake recipe she could remember, and more fruit pies than ever necessary. 

Peggy, who would ordinarily scoff every crumb and ask for more when Angie baked, would take a small bite or two, compliment the recipe politely, and excuse herself from the table. Time and again, it left Angie disappointed and challenged to find the one dessert that would be able to coax a little smile to break through.

Angie sighed as she dropped the second sheet of pastry over the top of the tin messily, cutting off the surplus edges with haste, before opening a drawer to find a fork, spreading the never-ending mess of flour across more surfaces. She was never going to get out of the kitchen at this rate. 

She sealed the pie’s edges and sliced a smiling face into the top of it before sliding it into the oven, and surveying the scope of the destruction across the room, finally understanding why her mother always got so frustrated whenever Angie had tried to help her bake growing up. Not even she knew how she could get flour in parts of the room where she hadn’t even been near.

She wasn’t entirely certain how she still had so much flour left in the bag either, considering its coverage across the kitchen, but she figured she had just enough to make another batch of cookies to replace the ones that had gone stale yesterday. 

Quickly cleaning the few dirty dishes from the pie, and pulling out two more bowls from the cupboard, she set to work measuring out the ingredients for a recipe from Nestlé she had found in a newspaper a few years ago. She had made it so many times she didn’t even need to reference the tattered, yellowed piece of paper that she’d cut out and placed between the pages of her favorite cookbook. 

She combined the dry and wet ingredients into one bowl, and dropped in the final one, a bar of chocolate cut into tiny pieces to stir in, when the rustling of fabric came from behind her. Angie whipped around wielding the wooden spoon in front of her to fend off the intruder, sending batter flying across the room.

Peggy gasped as it hit her face, flecks of dough sticking to her fluttering eyelashes as the bigger globs dropped down onto her chin, clinging defiantly before falling to the floor.

“Christ, Peg! I coulda killed you then,” Angie shrieked, clutching at her chest with her free hand, leaving a trail of butter and sugar across her blouse. 

“If you insist on murdering me, may I suggest something a little more lethal than cookie dough?” Peggy smirked and Angie’s heart leapt. Peggy swiped at the spatter across her forehead, and pulling out a lump of chocolate that had tangled in her hair. She flicked it at Angie, hitting her square between her eyes where it stuck.

Scowling, Angie obstinately flicked the wooden spoon again, so more of the batter landed across Peggy’s face, watching as shock registered in her eyes and then melted into the amusement she’d seen flitter across her features a moment before. 

Peggy stepped toward her, backing her into the counter until her hips hit the edge and she was forced to lean back. Angie brandished the spoon in between them, still, even as Peggy placed her arms on either side of her not caring about the batter now being pressed into her clothing as she closed the distance between them. 

She laughed softly as Angie’s eyes fluttered shut when she dropped a kiss just below her ear. Peggy brought her hand up to cradle Angie’s cheek, trying to stifle her giggling. Angie let her head fall to the side and nuzzled into the hand Peggy had brought up.

Peggy’s guffaw of laughter startled Angie, her eyes shooting open and her body standing up rigidly. It was then she felt the dough being squished onto her face with Peggy’s insistent touch. She stared wide-eyed and aghast at the gall of it before giving in to her own laughter, swatting Peggy’s hand out of the way and launching forward to transfer the cookie dough on her face to Peggy’s.

Peggy struggled half-heartedly to avoid the mess being further spread into her hair, but gave up when Angie wrapped all four limbs tightly around her torso, resting her head against her shoulder, smearing more dough. She hugged Angie closer for a minute, still giggling, and enjoying the feeling of Angie’s smile against her skin. 

“Ang?” 

“Hm?”

“Is something burning?”

Angie let go of her grip on Peggy’s waist, dropping her feet to the floor and turning toward the oven, losing her balance for a second when her foot slipped in fallen dough. She grabbed a tea towel and pulled the scorched pie from the oven, blueberry filling seeping menacingly though the macabre smiling face she’d cut into the crust. 

Peggy’s laugh filled the room again, and Angie felt relief flood her. She wouldn’t need to pit those cherries after all.


End file.
